


A Long Way From Home

by Batsymomma11



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Best Friends, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Long-Distance Friendship, Super Sons - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 04:32:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15811428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsymomma11/pseuds/Batsymomma11
Summary: Damian Wayne has the opportunity of a lifetime as Robin in an off-world crisis, but it means being away from Earth for close to a year. He doesn't think it's a big deal to be gone for so long without really saying goodbye to his best friend. Jonathan has something to say about that.





	A Long Way From Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one-shot little drabble with no real purpose. I just wanted to explore the friendship with the Super Sons and try to get a feel for them. I did my take on their personalities but it might not be canon. 
> 
> I do not own DC or its characters. I do own the story.  
> Thanks for reading. Enjoy!

                I don’t want this.

                Never this.

                I can see his eyes welling up with tears, his face turning bright pink and all I can think about is the fastest way to get out. The fastest exit I can make without ruining our friendship.

                I’m not equipped to handle emotional meltdowns. And I’m certainly not able to handle tears.

                Even still, the very notion of abandoning this—argument, makes me feel guilty.

                “Jon.”

                He blinks, sapphire eyes staring a hard line into the floor. Shoulders hunching in on themselves as if to make his height smaller. But that isn’t possible. He’s too big.

                “Jon,” I say again, softer. I’m trying. I’m trying so hard to keep myself in check and not start yelling again. But it takes effort.

                “I know.”

                “I didn’t mean to—hurt you.”

                Jon blinks, one fat tear slides down his face and he scrubs it away with the back of a hand. “I know. It’s fine.”

                I frown at him, fisting my hands to keep from fidgeting. It isn’t as though I did anything wrong. Per say. It’s true that I yelled. And Jon doesn’t care for that. It’s also true that I wasn’t feeling particularly friendly and I’ve been eager to get on patrol.

                But that isn’t why he’s looking at me like that.

                It’s because a leopard doesn’t change its spots.

                Because, on an emotional level, I struggle immensely in connecting with others. I always have. And this argument merely highlights that frailty. I don’t see why he thinks this is such a big deal. It feels—immature to be so upset.

                It feels abnormal.

                I open my mouth to voice another apology, because anything might be better than staring at each other like this, but Jon shakes his head and my teeth grind closed.

                “Don’t.”

                “Alright.”

                “Damian, I—you know I understand you. And I try my best to look past certain things, because you’re my best friend—but you can’t expect everyone else to feel like you do.”

                “I don’t.”

                One black brow lifts to disagree and I fold my arms over my chest, feeling the first flickers of defense threaten.

                “I wish you’d told me sooner.”

                “It would have been pointless to tell you sooner. Father only just informed me. I had no way of knowing.”

                “You—you said a moment ago that he let you know two weeks ago.”

                “Yes, I’ve been busy.”

                “Too busy to send a text?”

                I blink at him, “Point taken. That was rude of me. I’m sorry.”

                Jon shakes his head, turning to give me his back and I do start to fidget. Our friendship has always been unconventional. And certainly unexpected. Jon is everything opposite of me. Where I struggle to voice my emotions or connect with others, Jon is exceptionally vocal. His feelings are so strong that I occasionally feel suffocated by them. Like Yin and Yang, we’ve been balancing each other out since we were children.

                Now, my being twenty-one and Jon only eighteen, we still operate under much the same construct as when it began.

                “I won’t be gone more than a year.”

                Jon's shoulders go taut and he makes a low growl in his throat. “A year is a very long time Damian.”

                “Not that long. I’ll have some contact with earth and Father has informed me it could be shorter. It’s a very good opportunity for me.”

                “Yes, I’m sure it is.”

                “Jon,” I start up, then roll both shoulders to try and release some of my own tension. I don’t like making Jon angry with me. I don’t like having our friendship out of sorts. Especially when I leave tomorrow. It wouldn’t do to leave distracted. Or on bad terms.

                “What?”

                “I should have told you sooner.”

                He snorts, looking over a shoulder at me. I’ve stepped closer now and our height difference is enough I’m forced to look up at him. “It didn’t occur to you that your best friend in the entire fucking world would want to spend as much time as possible with you before you left for a _year_?”

                Something bitter and heavy tightens my gut and my frown deepens, “It did.”

                “Wow.”

                There’s a flash of anger in those blue eyes and I flex my jaw to keep from taking the easy out. I already yelled enough for one night. And I don’t want to face Jon crying. Again.

                “I don’t want to fight.”

                “Again, you mean?” Jon snaps, eyes burning angrily at me now.

                “Yes, again.”

                “Fine, Dami. Fine.”

                He turns on one heel and heads in the direction of the stairs that lead up to the manor. “Where are you going?”

                “I’m leaving. You don’t want me here.”

                “That isn’t--.”

                “What?” there is so much venom in that one word it takes me back and I stop mid-step and stare at him. He doesn’t usually lose his temper with me. It’s generally the other way around. But right now, I feel the heat of his rage just under my skin.

                Part of me is beginning to think I might deserve it. Part of me wishes I could understand him better and that this could have been avoided in the first place.

                “This is the problem with this whole entire fucking thing, alright? You ready to hear this?” Jon’s nose wrinkles as he tosses a hand, “I don’t care if you’re not ready. I’m going to tell you anyways. You think that nobody cares about you? You think that nobody loves you enough to want to be told when you’re just going to up and disappear? For a year? You’re fucking wrong. I care. I do love you. You’re my best fucking friend Damian. You’ve been the one constant in my life since before my powers started coming in. And in typical Damian fashion, you go and push me out at every step of the way and then turn around and have no clue how it happened.”

                I wet my lips, open my mouth to answer but Jon isn’t finished. He’s walking quickly back towards me, a mix of violence and pain flashing in his gaze as he takes two fistfuls of my hoody and gives me a hard shake.

                “If you want me out of your life and out of your hair, then you should have said so a long damn time ago!”

                “I don’t.”

                His mouth crumples into a scowl, “You act like you do. And you push and push and push. Someday, you’re going to push everyone away and there will be no one left.”

                “I—” my mouth feels dry suddenly and for one godawful moment, there is a faint pressure at the back of my eyes. I savagely beat the emotion down, giving a hard shove to dislodge Jon’s hands from me. He lets me.

                We both know he could keep holding on if he wanted to. Superman’s son doesn’t bend to a mere human’s strength.

                “I said I was sorry.”

                Jon blinks at me then roughly pushes both hands through his hair. “God, Damian.”

                “It wasn’t my intention to make this into an ordeal.”

                “Going away for a year _is_ an ordeal. It was always going to be one. And you knew that. Deep down, you knew. Which is why you avoided me and all those fuzzy frightening emotions that go with it. You avoided it because you didn’t want a goodbye even harder to handle.”

                I stare at him, jaw clenching so tight my teeth ache. “It’s possible.”

                “Dami,” Jon takes in a deep breath and then his shoulders soften and he looks more normal than he has in the last hour. The knot of unease in my stomach immediately loosens at the sight. God, I hate emotions. I hate how they frighten me. I hate how they make everything so much harder than it needs to be. “I’m going to miss you. You’re going to miss me. That’s OK.”

                I swallow thickly and nod. “Am I forgiven?”

                Jon laughs, but it sounds weary, “I’ll always forgive you. Even when I want to murder you. It’s what best friends do. It’s what brothers do.”

                Warmth tightens my chest at the notion of Jon being my brother and I feel the corner of my mouth lift before I can school it. Jon smiles back at me and I feel immeasurably better for it. He’s right. He usually is. Even when I can’t see it. Even when I will never admit it.

                “I can skip patrol tonight.”

                Jon’s eyes widen and there is a flicker of joy in their depths, “You? Skip patrol?”

                “Well, as you said, leaving for a year is quite an undertaking and I’ve not had a decent amount of time to spend with you. I leave in the morning so it only seems adequate--.”

                “Stop. I understand. You agree with me. You love me too. And yes, I want to hang out with you.”

                “Of course.”

                Jon snickers, striding back over to me to fold me into one of his familiar too tight hugs. He smells like the Kent farm. Wheat fields with a trace of the mint gum he’s always chewing and I feel a hollow surge of pain at the thought of not being able to gripe over these hugs for quite some time.

                Drawing back, Jon slugs me just this side of too hard in the shoulder then smiles blindingly. Any trace of upset has vanished from his face.

                “I call the green controller.”

                My frown is immediate. “But that’s the best--.”

                “You owe me.”

                “Fine.”

                “And I want the wingback chair.”

                “Jon, be reasonable.”

                He grins wickedly, darting up the cave stairs. “I am, Dami.”

                 


End file.
